Disintegration
by gryffinwhore
Summary: Why is Draco Malfoy such a mean kid? You'll get the answer here. WARNINGS: Slash, violence, bloodshedding, torture, sex. Main characters: Draco, Severus, Lucius. Pairing: DracoSeverus.
1. Default Chapter

**Disintegration**

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything and you know it.

**WARNING**: This fic contains abuse, violence, depression and bloodshedding.

**Genre**: Major angst and some drama.

**Rating**: R for violence

**Note**: English is NOT my mother tongue and the text might be incorrect somewhere in this story, even though I'm considered a fluent English speaker.

I've just finished this piece and I'm not quite sure if I should post it here or not; since many of you users are quite young of age. (To be honest, I never thought I'd write a fic like this one.) But then again; **I have warned you**.

**Please R & R!**

It was a cool summer's day. The birds sang in the trees and the wind blew soft and chilling. In the countryside, not far from London, a big, castle-like, white house was situated. Pillars embellished the front door and the windows looked like they could have been on a cathedral. In the backyard of this Malfoy Manor, a thirteen year old boy with a pointy, pale face and silvery blonde hair tried to relax in the soft sun. The sun, however, seemed to show Draco Malfoy no mercy. It peered into his eyes as he sat in a chair next to the huge pool, so he rose and went inside. The quietness struck him as he climbed the stairs to the second floor; he was home alone.

In the bathroom – mostly made of white marble – he stared at his own reflection in the mirror. There was a slight cut under his right eye, but apart from that, he looked like usual. Softly, he took off his shirt and grimaced slightly when the fabric touched a specifically evil cut on his chest. The mirror showed him that his pale body was covered in bruises and long, fine cuts that looked like they had been made by a whip. He couldn't bare looking at himself for more than a few minutes since he found himself utterly repulsive.

Suddenly, he could hear the front door open and the sound of voices; one harsh, male one and a soft, female.

"Draco?" his mother called.

Draco sighed, put on his shirt, gave his mirror reflection a last glare and went downstairs.

He faced his parents; Lucius Malfoy, a tall, strong built man with long, sleek silvery blonde hair and cold, blue eyes – and Narcissa Malfoy, tall and thin with long, soft curls of light hair and eyes that sparkled as ice. They were both dressed in black, and beside them a house-elf stood staring down at the floor.

Draco tried to tell which mood his father was in by looking at his face; but as usual, he couldn't. Lucius' eyes were always cold, no matter if his mouth were curved in a smile, a smirk or just made a thin line.

While his mother hastened into the living room and disappeared, Lucius asked his son to come downwards; and Draco did, as always, as his father told him.

He reached the end of the stairs and looked up in his fathers' pale, serious face. Draco felt a cold shiver down his spine. Something was wrong. Yes, something was definitely wrong.

What had he done this time? He couldn't think of anything in particular; he tried his hardest to be exactly what his father wanted him to be… but it seemed like it was never good enough.

Lucius Malfoy patted his sons shoulder without a smile, and continued talking:

"Do you remember, Draco, how I got you a position in the quidditch team?"

Draco nodded and didn't dare to say anything.

"Do you think", said Lucius and stared into his sons eyes, "that you have shown me gratefulness?"

"I have tried", said Draco in a trembling voice, "I really have…"

Lucius took away his hand and sneered.

"And how, exactly, my son – have you tried? I don't see your grades got any better this term, did they?"

Draco stared at the floor. He _was_ trying in school, he tried to do his very best, it was just _so hard to concentrate when all the bruises and cuts seemed to be in his mind and not on his frail, pale body_.

Lucius looked out the window, and then he slowly turned to face his son.

"I think you need to learn a lesson", he said.

Draco stared in his fathers cold, empty eyes. Fear rose in him as he stuttered:

"No… please, dad. No. P-please?"

A scornful smile appeared on Lucius' face. He grabbed Draco by the neck and hissed:

"I cannot believe that I have raised such a horrid little creature as you, Draco… can you believe it?"

Draco shook his head; he had never dared standing up to his father. He felt his skin sting as his fathers hand smacked against his left cheek. His body was already shivering, not from the pain but from how scared he was, but Lucius did not stop: he continued beating Draco harder and harder, until he finally grabbed an item from the umbrella stand that Draco knew too well; _the whip_.

"Take off your shirt", Lucius demanded.

Draco felt tears burn on the inside of his eyelids, but he refused to cry – he couldn't cry, he couldn't let his father see him in such a weakened state, so he obeyed and took off his shirt.

Numbness struck him as his father let the whip hit his back, over and over again, making new, long cuts that shimmered with glittering, dark-red blood.

Draco was soaking in blood and the sticking pain mixed with itching as Lucius swung the whip more furiously over his sons' naked back. Draco started to feel dizzy as the pain took over his senses and made his sight blur. He saw sparkling, golden spots in the darkness that now dwelled upon him, and before he fainted, he thought to himself; _this is what it feels like to be dying – this is my relief, this is my death, I will finally surrender_…

The first thing Draco saw when he opened his eyes was whiteness. First, he didn't understand where he was or how he had got there, but then his vision cleared and he realised he was in his mothers' and fathers' bedroom; he could now see the velvet furniture and the many dark paintings clearly. The purple curtains were drawn back to let in a glimpse of sunlight. As he slowly woke up, the overwhelming pain in his back took hold of him. Now that he was alone, he let his tears come; they fell down his cheeks quietly and he curled up in bed, not able to fall asleep because of the physical pain he was in.

As the tears fell and the wounds smarted, he felt how sore he was on the inside. He lied there and thought to himself; _why_?! Why did his father hate him so much?

He knew that Lucius would sit on his bedside a couple of hours later – he always did – asking for forgiveness. And as the victim forgives its executioner, so would Draco forgive his father, for he always did. Draco hated himself for it – he didn't know who he hated the most, his father or himself. And after Draco had forgiven him, he would give Draco all that he wanted; that's how he'd gotten the quidditch position – only to use it as an explanation to torture his son later, for he wasn't "grateful" enough.

Draco lay there on white sheets, injured and alone. No one came to sit by his bedside for hours, not until his father came, and those hours he spent thinking. Growing that layer of ice around his heart even thicker. He must build that wall around his soul to survive; he must torture others to reveal all the torment that is in his wretched soul; for it's the only way to lighten this darkness.

**End**

You may excuse me while I'll go into hiding under my bed, waiting to be flamed into oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disintegration II: The sun ain't gonna shine no more**

In a dark room at the upper floor of Spinners End, a ticking clock was the only sound made. The shape of a boy or a young man squatted in the corner of the room. He seemed to barely even breathe; his silvery, almost white, blond hair hung down in his pale, pointy face which was buried in his hands.  
Draco Malfoy was alone, guarding Severus Snapes residence as the Death Eaters were on a mission to finish off the last remnants of the Order of the Phoenix.  
He had got it now; it was burning hot-white on his left arm… the Dark Mark was carved into his very skin for eternal time.  
Draco got up off the floor. Quietly, he lit a lamp which stood on a small, rickety table, only to examine the Mark. The Mark, however, was not the ugly part of Dracos arm. Ever since his father Lucius had been imprisoned in Azkaban, something strange had been happening inside of Draco. All the fear he had felt towards his father, all the shame and guilt, had not disappeared when Lucius did. Instead, Draco was constantly tormented by his own thoughts. When Lucius wasn't there to inflict pain on his son, he did it to himself.  
As Draco now took an old family heirloom of Eileen Princes – Snapes mother – which was a sharp-edged dagger, out of his pocket where he always kept it whenever he was alone at Spinners End, he concentrated on the mantra he forced himself to think of over and over again:  
"I am the most vile and worthless person to ever have existed on this planet. I disgust myself. I cannot blame my father for hating me. Everything inside of me is filthy and rotten. I deserve to suffer; I deserve nothing but pain and misery."  
He pressed the blade onto his already scarred arm and saw, with a fascinated gasp, the familiar glittering dark-red blood trickle from the made wound. He wanted to hurt himself. He wanted the guilt to go away, or to feel more of it, he wasn't exactly sure.  
Draco stared at the window. It was so dark outside that the only thing he could see was his own reflection. Slowly, he moved his hand, with the knife in a trembling grip, towards his face. He felt a sudden urge to destroy those hated features, to be unrecognisable. Draco hesitated. His face; he was about to ruin his own face…! He stared into his window reflections bright, blue eyes and decided that they were the only two things that his mother would recognise him with once she got home.  
The feeling itself was similar to cutting his arm, leg or stomach; that fierce stinging of pain and – wait – what? Pleasure? Draco let out a gasp of horror. Sure – that was the truth. The piercing, the pain, the itching, the blood crawling out from the deeper and deeper cuts… it was satisfying, a relief; a pleasure, for sure.  
Furious because of the realisation, Draco could no longer hold back his hatred for his own person; he loathed himself more than anything and so he forced the dagger deep down in the middle of his own stomach.  
A sort of numb, hollow pain soared through his body. He had never felt anything of the sort before, not even when his father had been torturing him. Dracos robes were covered in blood within a few seconds. Tiny, golden spots that reminded him of stars appeared before his sight as he started to get dizzy. He was about to lose his balance and fall to the floor when he felt a cold, long-fingered and strong hand seize him by his shoulder.  
"What on earth are you doing!" snarled Severus Snape calmly, almost as if what he saw was comical, "having one of your nightly little private blood baths again? Don't you ever get sick of yourself? You look disgusting."  
Snape dragged Draco to his bedroom and resolutely placed him upon the rather large bed covered in blood-red sheets.  
"Your face wont be able to recover", Snape said, "but I doubt anyone will miss it much."  
Snape took out his wand and put a few healing spells on Dracos most severe wounds. Draco coughed and felt the taste of blood in his mouth.  
The most strange thought had popped into his head; he wanted Snape to hurt him… to cut him, to torture him, to take out all his anger and bitterness on Draco.  
"Please…", Draco wheezed, "Master."  
Snape raised his eyebrows, but did not speak.  
"Master", said Draco, now with a clearer voice, "do you want to... hurt me?"  
"…Hurt you?" said Snape, almost with a trace of fear in his voice.  
"I want you to hurt me", said Draco, refusing to open his eyes and meet Snapes piercing gaze.  
Slowly, Snape made his way to the bed. He had never thought this – this fantasy would ever come true. He had wanted to inflict pain on this boy since the first day he saw him, but not only physical pain, but… sexual pain.  
He bent like a beast of prey over Draco and ripped his robes apart in one powerful move. Draco gasped, more blood flowed from his face and mouth, suddenly his eyes were wide open and he saw his own, now naked, body almost fully covered in blood and Snapes hook-nosed face with the long, black curtains of greasy hair that reached his shoulders. He felt the blood raising to his genitals and realised how completely hard he was. When Snape took a firm grip of Dracos cock, Draco thought he was going to burst. At the same time, Snape had also slid down two fingers into the freshly made wound on Dracos stomach. This confusing mixture of pleasure and pain was almost too much for Draco; it was so arousing and the ecstasy and the anxiety spread in equal parts of both his body and mind. Snape started to move his hand gently and stroked Dracos cock; caressed his glans while picking up the dagger from the floor and started to make deep cuts all over Dracos torso.  
The stinging, almost unbearable, pain from the dagger as it scratched deeply into Dracos skin made him scream from pain – along with Snapes faster and harder strokes of his dick which made him shiver from pleasure…  
As Snape forced the dagger blade deep into Dracos Dark Mark, the boy couldn't hold it any longer. He came, violently, into Snapes clutched hand and the sperm mixed up with blood as he screamed, not quite sure himself if it was from pleasure or from pain.  
Snape didn't say a word, but left immediately.  
Draco laid there, panting, in a mess of his own come and blood. He knew it was insane, knew it was wrong, sick and twisted, but he didn't care.  
As he fell asleep, Snapes scent and the taste of blood lingered in his dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disintegration III: Hand in hand with fear and shadows**

Through the window, Draco could see the autumn leaves falling on the frosty ground. He could hear the distant noises of a house-elf rummaging around the kitchen. He knew that his mother was lying on her bed, but not sleeping; just lying there, staring into the wall as if she was waiting for something. Almost two years had passed since the day she had found him lying upon Snapes bed covered in blood and with a completely mutilated and unrecognisable face. She had never found out what had really happened; Snape had told her that he had found Draco in that particular state and Draco had claimed it was a spell gone terribly wrong, ever since. He knew that his mother knew it was a lie. She didn't, however, seem to have figured out the truth and Draco surely didn't mind having it that way. He knew that she was disappointed in him; knew that the reason she did nothing but stare into the wall anymore was him.  
The War was over and Voldemort at rule. Most of the wizarding community had – probably out of fear – joined the Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy had been released but hadn't touched Draco since; he even winced every time he looked at his son… most people did. Dracos' face was indeed not what it had once been. It was distorted, destroyed; a morbid and macabre piece of art.  
Every time Draco looked into the mirror he was reminded of that night with Snape. Somehow, he felt nausea and yearning in equal parts of him. Nothing of the sort had happened since; Draco thought – or rather, hoped – that it was simply because he and Snape hadn't been alone together since.  
Draco spent a lot of time thinking about Snape, especially in his fantasies when he tried to reproduce that painful and arousing experience they had shared.  
Every time he feared for his own sanity; every time he felt those stings of horror, he reminded himself that it was not only him… there was Snape too, who was obviously just as sick and perverted as himself.  
Draco heard the front door squeal, followed by the soft creaking of the kitchen floor and then his fathers' harsh and tired voice:  
"Draco! Time to go."  
Draco grabbed his packed trunk and went down the stairs. They were heading for the yearly celebrations of the Dark Realm and he knew that Snape was going to be there. Narcissa wasn't coming; she claimed to have no strength left for festivities. Draco felt a sharp sting of guilt but did his best to ignore it. He stood side by side with Lucius and together they apparated, only to emerge in a field just outside of Hogsmeade. At this field, a large castle made of black marble was seated. They could hear distant music from in there and Lucius said in a low voice:  
"Put on your mask, boy."  
As Lucius himself put on a white and silver masquerade mask, Draco pulled on his own which was black and made of leather. A Masquerade Ball was exactly the type of thing Lucius Malfoy would take his deformed son to; nothing to be ashamed of since no one could see what was underneath that mask.  
They reached the castle and Draco realised it was much bigger and more crowded in there than he had expected. Different people came to greet his father but Draco simply ignored them. Instead, he was trying to search the room for a tall figure with long, black, greasy hair…  
"Lucius", he suddenly heard the drawling, familiar sound of Severus Snapes voice speak.  
Draco turned around quickly and saw his father speak to Snape, whose face was covered in a mask that looked like it was made of iron; probably enchanted.  
"What have we got here?" said Snape and turned his cold gaze at Draco.  
Dracos' heart started beating faster as his stomach gave a jolt and he gulped.  
"Good evening, sir", he said nervously.  
"May I have a word with you?" said Snape and Draco was convinced that his heart had just skipped a beat.  
"Yes", he stuttered, "yes, of course."  
"In private", said Snape, "if you please."  
Since Draco couldn't see Snapes' face behind that iron mask or hear a tone of something else than mockery in his voice, he had no idea what to expect.  
He followed Snape up the stairs and they reached a long corridor which they walked, wordlessly, until Snape opened one of the doors to let themselves in. the buzzing from the Masquerade died out as Snape closed the door behind them. It was pitch dark and silent until Snape casted a lightening spell and the room went dimly lit. Draco gaped in shock at the sight of the room. It was like a somewhat frightening mixture of a love nest and a torture chamber.  
The walls were dark red and in the middle of the room was a large bed covered in black, satin sheets. On the wall, over the bed, hung chains with fastened handcuffs, a whip and numerous sharp objects which looked like a muggle doctors' equipment.  
Draco turned to look at Snape who stood silent with his arms folded.  
"Master?", Draco said while failing miserably at sounding confident and secure.  
"Oh, you just shut your mouth, Draco. I have been waiting for this for a very long time."  
With those words, Snape simply pushed Draco to the bed and in few, quick moves, chained Dracos' wrists in the handcuffs. Draco had no choice but standing on his knees; there was no other position possible.  
He felt extremely vulnerable but at the same time excited. Snape was just behind him and he couldn't really turn his head around to watch what he was doing. Suddenly, he heard Snape mutter something (Draco thought that it was probably a spell of some sort) and Dracos' robes vanished. There he was, naked, exposed and tied up alone in a room with Severus Snape. Draco gave a small shatter and felt his cock harden. He saw Snapes longfingered hand fetch the whip. The thought of his father immediately came to his mind and he knew that Snape must have seen the scars on his back.  
With a sharp, piercing sting that made Draco scream out loud, the first lash of the whip hit his arse. As Snape continued to fling the whip in painful, repeated taunts, Draco felt his own hot blood trickle down his ass and thighs, which just made him, if possible, even harder. He felt Snapes hand on his left thigh, smearing it with blood.  
Suddenly, Snape threw the whip to the floor and took down one of the sharp, silver objects from the wall; a scalpel. As he took Dracos' cock in a firm grip, he started to cut the insides of Dracos' thighs with the scalpel. It hurt a lot more than the outer thighs and Draco gasped loudly; both from the incredibly arousing touch of Snapes' hand and the tormenting pain of the scalpel to his thighs. Snape removed his hand from Dracos cock and Draco could feel him starting to stroke his ass, getting nearer Dracos rectum.  
With a noisy moan, Draco then felt Snape inserting two fingers into his anal… it was a teasing feeling of intense pleasure and Draco knew at once that he wanted MORE, something bigger, harder… as if Snape – gifted with legilimens as he was – could read his mind, he pulled out his fingers, let his hand rest on Dracos' hipbones and there ---  
Draco felt a push of pain as his anal opened for Snapes cock. Snape, however, didn't seem to care and started to fuck him fast and hard, his huge dick making Draco scream and pant; almost like a girl. Draco could feel every part of Snapes cock inside of him; the violent thrusting along with no lubrication made his ass feel sore but it was good – so good… he felt like he was filled, almost nauseous as Snape continued to fuck him violently, harder and harder, as he cut him deeper and deeper in his thighs with the scalpel…  
Draco came right before his Master did; both the boy and the man ejaculating sperm mixed with blood and Snape withdrew his dick from Dracos anal, leaving Draco with strange feelings of pain, soreness and emptiness.  
A few seconds and a cleaning spell later, Snape got up to his feet.  
"I'll leave you here", he said, "you'll figure out how to release yourself. I've made arrangements with your father… since both your parents are rather sick of you, you shall come to live with me at Spinners End. Whether you want to or not… I couldn't really give a fuck."  
Draco felt his lips twitch into a smile beneath the mask and before Snape closed the door behind him, he said to himself:  
"I am… disintegrated."


End file.
